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FARE THEE WELL.

“ Alas! they had been friends in Youth;
“ But whispering tongues can poison truth;
“ And constancy lives in realms above:
“ And Life is thorny; and youth is vain :
“ And to be wroth with one we love,
“ Doth work like madness in the brain :

“ But never either found another
“ To free the hollow heart from paining-

They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
“ Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder;
“ A dreary sea now flows between,
“ But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
“ Shall wholly do away, I ween,
“ The marks of that which once hath been."

Coleridge's Christabel, .

FARE thee well!' and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. . Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee

Which thou ne'er canst know again :

it so.

Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou wouldst at last discover
'Twas not well to

spurn
Though the world for this commend thee-

Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe-
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not ;
Love
may

sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineth

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth

Is—that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow

Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widow'd bed.

VOL. IV.

And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say “Father!"

Though his care she must forego? When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is prest, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had bless'd ! Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All
my

madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride, which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee—by thee forsaken,
Even

my

soul forsakes me now: But 'tis done-all words are idle

Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

Fare thee well !_thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie, Seard in heart, and lone, and blighted

More than this I scarce can die.

A SKETCH.

“ Honest-Honest lago!
“ If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."

Shakspeare.

Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;
Next-for some gracious service unexprest,
And from its wages only to be guess'd—
Raised from the toilet to the table,—where
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash’d,
She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd.
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie-
The genial confidante, and general spy-
Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess-
An only infant's earliest governess! !
She taught the child to read, and taught so well,
That she herself, by teaching, learn’d to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows,
As many a nameless slander deftly shows:
What she had made the pupil of her art,
None know-but that high Soul secured the heart,

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